Sins of the Father
by QuintossentialGray
Summary: The sins of his father's past come back to affect the life of Gabriel Gray. Sylar is back in New York and goes to visit an old friend. But the things he learns from that visit will forever change his life and lead him to go after the real nightmare man.
1. Chapter 1

Another day began with a fresh flutter of eyelids. Dark brown eyes that in the shadows of the room were nearly consumed by blackness. Pupils adjusted to the squalid motel room. His long lean body stretched out uncomfortably on the small hard bed. In the middle of the mattress, a busted spring protruded and annoyed him all night long. It left a rough, sore spot to the right of his spine.

A hand came out from under the cheap, threadbare wool blanket. Accommodations that were even worse than what he had in Texas. Fingers spread out and flicked in the darkness. Desperate for an overnight change, a reprieve from his current fate. Still, there was nothing.

He sighed heavily and slid off the low bed. A short walk across the crusty carpet and he was at the light switch. Slight trepidation occurred as the light filled the room. It had taken so much effort to even make it this far. Obstacles to overcome and the massive setback of being without the abilities he worked so hard for over the months.

From what he gleaned from Michelle, or was it Candace? It seemed as if people were once again meddling in his life. She or someone else had done something during his recent captivity. There was only one person who could help him find answers.

The nice thing about Brooklyn was the availability of non-descript motels where a person could stay with little to no questions asked. It made him miss the former sanctuary of his old apartment. Everything neat and ordered, a place where he could just be.

As he settled the bill with the aid of a credit card from the same dead man whose clothes he now wore. He felt an excited palpitation in his heart. Mohinder would help him figure out what happened and what could be done. Sylar emerged out onto the pavement and walked the long city blocks to Suresh's place.

In front of the building, he stopped in his tracks. There was no way of telling what could be up there. His nerves sparked to life which was hard to get used to again. Feeling so weak and anxious was something he'd almost forgotten. A hand moved uneasily through dark messy hair. The brisk chill in the air made Sylar shiver as he buttoned up the gray jacket.

With his hood pulled up over his head, he strode forward and entered the building. No one gave him a second glance in the musty, steep stairwell. Rather fitting as he really was merely ordinary. Just another figure in the hallway, Sylar stopped by that familiar door.

His head leaned forward as he concentrated. His attempt to use the enhanced hearing ability failed as no new sounds could be taken in. But, something did happen as he stood there.

First his vision blurred then doubled, and his legs weakened to the point where they could barely support his body. He gasped for breath and groaned a sick, guttural sound. The momentary bout of physical weakness shattered his body. Sylar grasped his chest, right above the massive stitches that held his skin together over the slowly healing wound. As he panted and felt his scarred chest he focused intently on each new breath.

After a few moments, he felt better enough to step toward the door. From his pockets he retrieved a few small tools for the occasion. A quick glance around confirmed his solitude as he set to work on the lock. Years of repairing the often complicated mechanisms found in clocks and watches easily prepared Sylar to deal with the likes of a standard door lock.

A few minutes later, Sylar was satisfied by the click and an easily turned doorknob. He stepped into the room where so much had gone down mere months ago. There was no trace of the betrayal or the fight. Even the walls and ceiling were as good as new. Repaired of all marks and several new coats of pain as well. He slid his right hand along the smooth wall as he walked into the living room.

There were papers scattered around the room. Each with different crayon-scrawled drawings all over them. He picked one up to get a closer look. A pair of glaring eyes with a strange symbol near them. Lots of red streaks around the eyes and all over the picture.

Sylar furrowed his brow at the utter randomness of it all before he put it back down on the table. One room was explored at a time as Sylar searched for clues as to what his old friend may have been up to. What he did find led to some intriguing conclusions. A detective's badge with the name Parkman on it and some clothes that were definitely not Mohinder's own. One rumpled blue shirt was picked up from the wooden floor, he held it tightly in his hands.

It felt cold, the person who wore it previously had not touched the garment in some time. The scent of Old Spice was still laced through the fabric as Sylar picked up on the scent he shrugged and the tossed the shirt aside. Back in the living room, the front doorknob was all too easily turned. Mohinder tensed up as he swung the unusually silent door inward.

Areas of the front room remained untouched but Mohinder could notice the small things that were just barely off. Quickly, he rushed over to his desk but his heart sank at the sight of the slightly ajar desk drawer. At the top of the drawer there were scratch marks around the broken lock. His dexterous fingers settled onto the drawer's edge and he haltingly pulled. Shadows evaporated as the dim light of the room slowly filled the space inside. Mohinder's throat constricted as he felt the bottom of the empty drawer.

He sighed as he glanced down, he noticed a shiny piece of jagged metal on the floor. After he picked it up, Mohinder found a more of them a short distance away and pieces of plastic too that were all entangled in wires. It was all that remained of Mohinder's phone in a heap on the mauve colored rug under his desk.

All new heartbeats were put on hold as the current one froze in fear in Mohinder's chest. It was very evident that he was not alone. Getting out of the apartment became his first priority as he turned to head back to the door. A sudden blur of movement was all that registered until hands grasped onto Mohinder's green shirt collar.

With a sudden jerk and a very audible pained gasp, Mohinder's body was slammed hard against the wall. A framed map on a piece of parchment fell and it's ornately carved frame cracked in two. Mohinder struggled as he shoved hard against his attacker. The grip on his shirt collar instantly slackened and an ear shattering scream was heard the moment Mohinder's hands found their way to the other man's chest. Sylar instinctively backed away, his hands in front of him to guard his chest and stomach.

Mohinder coughed as he took a few steps forward and lunged out, his arm swung out towards the intruder. Bone connected to bone as a set of tightened knuckles cracked against Sylar's jawbone. It sent Sylar reeling backward as he stumbled to the desk, a lamp got knocked off it and shattered on the floor. Each caramel colored bump of skin felt a slight burn of facial stubble.

He panted and turned to Mohinder and ran toward him, Sylar tackled him to the ground as they rolled around on the floor. Each traded blows and at one point Sylar jerked Mohiner's head against the floor while he grasped a handful of shorter dark hair. After the third time his head met the the floor, Mohinder shifted under Sylar and kicked him hard in the stomach .

Sylar grunted and fell back his lungs emptied in an instant as he coughed on his hands and knees. He frantically spit out some blood while his hands searched through the mess on the rug next to him. Hands grasped desperately for anything that could give Sylar any advantage. Finally, he found an object and so many had served him so well in the past. The book he he held tightly in his hand would as well.

In another quick blur, Sylar struck. Similar to what occurs in a car crash, everything slowed down for Mohinder in that moment. His attacker came into focus for the first time. Though the sound of the screams from earlier is what first hinted that Mohinder knew who was with him in the room. It wasn't until the glimpse of those dark, determined eyes that the thought concertized in his mind.

Man of science and logic that he was he should have deduced the complete impossibility of Sylar's presence. But the array of impossibilities Mohinder had witnessed kept that thought from entering his mind as the book slammed right into the side of his head. His eyes eyes rolled back into his head as he hit the floor in a heap. Sylar panted viciously, his body bent over with hands on knees as he gasped for breath. A few long strands of spit dripped down without a care as he glanced over at Mohinder's body.

He haphazardly wiped his mouth with his right arm and stood up straight. Slowly he prowled his way over to the body on the floor. Sylar peered down at his one-time friend to confirm that he was indeed out cold. His left hand moved through Mohinder's shorter, wavy hair, as he tested to see if he was faking. Since that's what Sylar would do.

His limp body never even twitched. Sylar smirked and got up, he moved to the open door and closed it shut all the way. He locked it up tightly and blocked the door before he once again stood over the other man's body.

An hour later, Mohinder felt dull throbbing pain. It spread from both temples out to the back of his head. He groaned and the vibrations of sound that were made tickled his achingly dry throat. There was pressure placed on other parts of his body than his head. Both arms, legs, and his chest, he realized were bound to the chair he sat in.

A moment passed as it all settled in, he grunted but even that was different. His lips parted as the cloth tied around his head forced his mouth open. After he breathed in, the scent and taste of Old Spice invaded his system. His eyes widened and his body shook violently with each sickened cough. Arms pulled hard against their bonds as his watery eyes blinked quickly to adjust to the low light in in the bedroom. He could hear soft deliberate footsteps getting closer from down the hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

Loud muffled grunts greeted Sylar while he he strolled back into the room. His eyes occupied with a stack of folders and files in his hands. Mohinder looked once again upon the man who haunted his nightmares over the passing months. It was not exactly the same man from before though. He was paler, thinner and more unkempt than the last time the two were face-to-face. He spoke without ever looking over at Mohinder.

"A word of advice Mohinder, don't hide your gun in the same place twice. Especially after someone has already seen where that is. From the last time you tried to use it on them."

The venom contained in within those last words stung Mohinder. He struggled against the chair as he kept trying to speak. Sylar circled Mohinder slowly as he continued to read through the files.

"So, Mohinder, I see that you've been quite busy we since we've last spoken."

He smirked and with a soft dark chuckle he threw the folders down on the bed. Files and papers rustled as they spread out and scattered across the rumpled sheets. Mohinder stared with wide dry eyes as the papers were exposed. He had been stealing and copying files from the Company almost ever since he started working there. Sylar learned much about the Company, apparently the organization responsible for both of his recent stints in captivity.

But that information didn't pique his interest nearly as much as the files on something called the Shanti virus. Back when he and Chandra were working together, Sylar learned that his daughter Shanti died when she was very young. As he read about the virus it became adamantly clear to Sylar what they did to him in Mexico. His symptoms matched those of of a test subject called Patient Y. A complete loss of abilities, physical deterioration, and bouts of sickness.

It was something to do with destruction of nucleotides in the blood. But this Patient Y only lasted four days with full onset of symptoms. At first it chilled Sylar to the very bone to read this. But when he set out to talk to Mohinder as he read he discovered something very intriguing. It seemed as if fate once again played a part between the pair of them.

"I came so far because I had a feeling that you would be able to give me some answers. Heh, I had no idea how right I was."

He moved over to Mohinder and loosened the tightly wrapped scrap of fabric from his mouth. His head throbbed as the pressure released from that part of his body. A series of hoarse, dry coughs shook his body. The sounds echoed throughout the room. A couple quick breaths in and out as he licked his cracked, sore lips.

"Could I get some water?"

He choked out these words as he continued to cough slightly. Sylar's eyebrows raised in concern and he walked over and put his hand on Mohinder's shoulder. His other arm reached up to rub his bruised and cut face.

"Hmm, that sounds like a plan."

Slowly, he dragged an open palm against Mohinder's shirt then tape then shirt again. A pattern that could be repeated on many parts of the man's bound body. He left down the hallway as he made his way to the small hall bathroom. There was a glass next to the sink and Sylar returned to the bedroom, with it full.

He got water all over his hands form filling the glass under a rushing faucet. When he got in front of Mohinder he flicked his hand out. Drops of tap water flew and splattered onto Mohinder's skin. He flinched out of surprise a the gesture then watched Sylar greedily gulp from the glass. He set it down on the small desk next to him.

"Mmm, that was a good idea. It really hit the spot." He smiled as water dripped off Mohinder's chin. He glared up at Sylar, his eyes showed a small portion of the fear he felt being helpless in this man's clutches. Sylar moved to the bed across from the chair. He sat down and gazed at the files next to him as he continued on.

"I came such a long way to see you Mohinder. Something told me that you had the answers I needed. Apparently, she worked for them"

Mohinder was greatly annoyed at Sylar's vague statements.

"What are you talking about?! Who worked for them?"

Sylar was lost in thought until Mohinder spoke. His eyes met those of Suresh as he stayed clam while he explained his fate post-Kirby.

"This...virus...the one Shanti died from. I think that I have it. I haven't...I mean, my abilities are all gone."

A look of complete contempt washed over Mohinder's face.

"How dare you say her name..."

Sylar stood up and placed his arm on Mohinder's shoulder. He pressed down hard as he lowered his face to be level with that of Mohinder.

"From all the long chats I've had with Chandra about her...I think I knew your sister better than you ever will. I mean when I said he shared things with me, we connected. This almost makes us like brothers."

Mohinder felt the harsh truth in these words. His father was more open with the man who would bring about his demise than he was with his own son.

"It seems though that these people, this Company, really value you Mohinder. Or, at least the antibodies in your blood."

Sylar's fingers grazed and then grasped at Mohinder's bound arm. Through his rough fingertips he could sense Mohinder's heartbeat, his pulse. It made him yearn for the enhanced hearing ability and it's function to gage every emotional shift in a person. Sylar wished he could hear each fluctuation inside Mohinder, the switch from anger to fear. Mohinder scoffed at Sylar as he glared into those eyes.

"What makes you think that I would ever agree to help you? To allow you to kill again?"

Sylar couldn't help but to chuckle at that last remark. Killing had certainly not been an issue from the moment he woke up in that dilapidated shack with Michelle. Should he let Mohinder know that?

"This is twice now that I've come to you for help. Twice that your response has been disappointing. But...it's no matter."

"Did it ever occur to you that this might be the karma that you're so fond of speaking of?"

Sylar merely smirked as he remained silent. He turned away and left the room for a few moments. In that time, Mohinder struggled with his bonds but they did not even give in the slightest. Sylar re-entered the room with a small canvas bag in his hand. Mohinder's eyes raised at the sight of it.

On the desk, Sylar lay out the contents of what amounted to Molly's home treatment kit. The most important portion of which was a fresh syringe. His fingers curled around the cylindrical tube and picked it up as he approached Mohinder.

"Now then, I wonder how many tries it'll take before I hit a vein?"

For the next few minutes or so Mohinder's arm was amateurishly prodded and stabbed at. It didn't even seem as if Sylar was trying to hit a vein as the tip tore through skin then slid back out again and again. Tiny red marks all over his flesh the sting at first merely bothersome. But, as it went on it became utter agony as Mohinder struggled in his bonds and cried out in pain as he tried to squirm away from Sylar. Finally, Mohinder broke.

"Enough! Please...there are vials in the back room, a small fridge in the corner. It's all ready, just take them!"

Sylar had paused with the needle's sharp point mere millimeters away from Mohinder's flesh. He slowly pulled it back and set it down on the table. He turned and moved eagerly down the hall. A small black fridge was in the corner of the room. A smile creased his lips as he all but lunged for the handle.

There were three small vials sitting in a plastic holder on the second rack. Sylar snatched them and turned to leave. Halfway across the room he realized he left the fridge's door open. Annoyed, he turned and returned to the corner of the room and kicked the door closed. He couldn't wait for his telekinesis to return so that he wouldn't have to be bothered by such random events.

When Sylar started back for the door, something caught his eye. It was a photograph covered in various notations. Sylar placed the vials gently down as he picked up the picture. It was a group of people on a rooftop.

Red pen notes on some of the people. Slowly, he scanned the faces. There was a heading that read: The Company's 12. This wouldn't have meant anything to Sylar if he wouldn't have noticed the man in the lower right hand corner. When Mohinder was out, Sylar ransacked all of Mohinder's files.

He did a great deal of reading on the Company. The people who got in his way and made him powerless. He read Mohinder's journal on what he learned about these people. That they all had abilities. But this man who flashed a dashing smile at the camera...there was no way. He turned and went back to Mohinder in the next room.

"Where did you get this picture?!"

Mohinder narrowed his soft brown eyes at Sylar. He noticed how quickly Sylar took each breath, the shaking in his hands, and the increased paleness of his skin.

"Where?!"

Mohinder raised an eyebrow as he answered.

"A man named Nathan Petrelli. His parents were both members that group."

Normally, the name Petrelli would have caused Sylar to fly into a rage what with the history he and Peter had. But it barely registered as he stared at the man. His hair was darker, his face cleanly-shaved, and he looked more vibrant than Sylar had ever remembered seeing him. That journal claimed that the twelve all had abilities. Gabriel always thought that his father was just an average watchmaker. But, there was so much more than that to Jacob Gray's life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Twenty Years Ago...**

After what seemed like ages, the last flashbulb popped. Finally, the small group of people could move around freely again. Jacob used this opportunity to pull aside Maury Parkman. With a slight wave of his left hand, he motioned Maury over to the corner of the Deveaux rooftop. When he was sure it was just the two of them, he spoke in hushed tones.

"Maury, how have you been? How's your son doing?"

Maury Parkman smiled as he thought about his son. A young boy who was something to be proud of. Kind, helpful, and very good-natured, Matt always stood up for others.

"He's fine Jacob. How about your boy...Gabriel, right?"

Some of the smile faded away from Jacob's face as he considered the boy. At seven years old, he was a bright, shy boy but unfortunately not what Jacob had expected.

Other members of the Company were lucky enough to have children that were also gifted. Having an ability was such a wonderful way of life. Something that Jacob wanted to be able to pass on to his own. Fate did not smile in this way on the Gray family. Young Gabriel never manifested in any way. True, it took some people longer to do so, but Jacob had mostly given up.

"Gabriel's good and he'll be even better soon enough. Maury, I've got something to tell you. What if there was a way to know why us. Why we're different, what's different about us. Biologically speaking, I mean. What if...

His tone grew considerably more conspiratorial as he finished.

"We didn't have to be alone anymore?"

All the response Jacob received could be read from the way the features of Maury's face slackened. He glanced quickly over both shoulders to make sure no one heard their conversation.

"You let someone else know about us? Jacob, I mean if Bob or worse, Adam found out about this... You can't let this get out."

Jacob sighed, his eyes hardened and his jaw clenched up. He stared down the shorter man.

"This man, Dr. Anderson, has come up with the genetic markers. He knows what about all of us is unique. Using this information he has come up with a serum. It can be injected into a subject's bloodstream and has the potential to change a person's genetic code. We could create so many more people like us. We could change the world Parkman."

A slight glint of the fanatical lit up Jacob's eyes.

"If anyone else hears you talking like this...I can't imagine how they'll respond.

Suddenly, Jacob grasped Maury's shoulder as he looked into his eyes and projected his thoughts to the telepath.

_This stays between us for the moment...the others will be made aware of it in due time_

Beads of cold sweat poured down over the clammy skin of Maury's forehead as Jacob's smooth voice filled his head. His amber eyes faded and became more translucent as he shot back his reply.

_Okay. Just between us... who were you going to test this thing on? _

Jacob glanced away as he thought about the gift he could give his painfully ordinary son.

**Present Day...**

At the edge of the bed, Sylar sat and stared straight ahead of him. Awash in a sea of thought, his fingertips indented the photo in his hands with each each second of added pressure. Just a couple feet away, Mohinder cautiously watched Sylar. He didn't dare ask what had consumed him so since he got back into the bedroom.

Finally, he snapped out of it and remembered why he was there in the first place. Slowly, he set the photograph on a cream-colored rumpled sheet. His body arose from the bed and he left the room without saying a single word. A couple moments later, he returned with the vials tightly clamped in hand. Randomly he pulled one of the vials out and set the others down.

Sylar had managed to track down a fresh syringe and started to fix it with the contents of the chosen vial. Mohinder felt his heartbeat travel from his chest into his throat as he considered Sylar becoming powerful again. Such consequences could be had, not only for himself but for most every other person he knew. As Sylar finished he approached Mohinder. His body slid behind the chair, he bent down and and whispered into his captive's ear.

"Once I do this...then I have some unfinished business to attend to. But after, it'll be just the two of us. I'll make sure of that, no more distractions."

Without warning, Suresh's head was yanked hard backward by a strong hand full of tightly bunched dark curls. His line of sight shifted hard from the opposite wall to those dark cold eyes. It seemed to Mohinder they had a glint in them, he was excited no doubt to become what again what he once was. There were no words as Sylar silently examined Suresh, turning his head from side to side. His hand released those curls as he grabbed the syringe.

Mohinder was not forced to watch but it was unthinkable to turn away. It would be his blood that cured Sylar and re-birthed the monster, the guilt that twisted his stomach made it impossible not to take in every detail of the big moment. Long fingers wrapped around the syringe as Sylar carefully lined up the needle's point with one of his tense, bulging veins.

With the needle precariously held over his skin he suddenly lowered his left hand and stabbed the vein of his right arm. It tore through flesh and he gasped softly as he pushed down hard on the plunger. He waited for the tube to fully empty before he slid the sharp point back out and tossed it aside. Sylar panted a little as the syringe rolled across the wooden floor and clattered as it knocked into the desk's corner leg.

Every moment he stood there, he thought he could actually feel his blood tingling and buzzing with Mohinder's. His legs felt rubbery and weak as he awkwardly stumbled backward. His heart slowed as his body regulated every simple function.

He landed backward on the too-soft bed as his eye lids felt heavy. A few slow blinks and he drifted off, completely out. While Mohinder sat nearby bound and helpless as Sylar's body all but shut itself down in order to make it's repairs. All he could do was watch and wait for what was to come with Sylar's next waking moment.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next couple of hours, Mohinder writhed and struggled to free himself while Sylar was out. He learned however, that each pull made against the thick coils duct tape only resulted in long dark hairs being slowly torn out from his skin. In the places where tape was over clothing, an increased constriction that caused the chosen limb to throb from the lack of circulation.

Finally, he stopped struggling, perhaps Sylar would unwittingly allow him an opportunity to at least escape later on. There were no misconceptions on Mohinder's part about his potential to stop Sylar if the treatment worked. A low grunt emitted from twisted blankets and sheets. Sylar flipped violently over on the mattress, he kicked out at the web of sheets that entangled his form. A few low, confused mumbles were heard as Sylar finally freed himself.

His dark long lashes encrusted with the remnants of sleep as he smacked his dry lips together and sat up. Long legs swung over the side of the bed. Tall black boots hit the floor with a resounding thud. Sylar reached up and scratched the back of his head as he stretched his thin, tall frame. His neck popped and as he settled back into his normal state, he remembered Mohinder was still with him.

He took his time as he observed the helpless man. Sweat dampened his clothing and dotted his skin. Rough red patches on his arms where the earlier struggles chafed him. Sylar chuckled as he spoke.

"Hmm, now that is a pleasant sight to wake up to. I could get used to that."

Tremors of fear shook through Mohinder's system It wasn't so much those words on their own as it was the combination of the inflection in Sylar's voice and the possessive look in his eyes. Both spoke toward the fact that the man seemingly had Mohinder's fate on his mind and that a decision was made.

Sylar pushed his arms under his body to stand himself back up. Instantly, he sat right back down to relieve his sore right arm. He glanced at his arm, carefully he touched the red, puffy area where the syringe went in. His eyes snapped wide open as he wondered if it worked. Hand out in front of his body, Sylar could only hesitate. Not even Mohinder would be safe from his rage if he was denied yet again.

With a slow controlled exhale he concentrated. The small mahogany desk shivered, then pulled forward away from the the wall. It slid alarmingly close to Mohinder as it traveled the length of the room. Mohinder watched as a straight, focused face spread into a malicious grin. To Sylar, this was even better than when he moved the glass for Chandra Suresh. This was a victory, over ever getting bested by another.

After reacquainting himself with telekinesis, he tested out various other abilities. Everything else was fine, though the control over his hearing would have to be worked on. True, it was always his most erratic power. Every car that drove by and every tiny scatter of pebbles on the pavement was like a barrage of punches straight to Sylar's temple. He knelt over, his head in his hands as he struggled to regain himself. An excruciating moment later and he slowly opened his eyes. Sylar looked at Mohinder as the pain in his head subsided.

"I bet that reminded you of old times... didn't it Mohinder?"

Mohinder looked away from Sylar as he thought of that trip. Something that started out with the best of intentions and ended up just another part of Sylar's killing spree. Each smile or laugh that came from "Zane's" lips now rang false and hollow in Mohinder's every recollection. After he realized his prior abilities were intact, Sylar wondered about the one that he thought got away. His fingers spread and wiggled as he considered trying it. Michelle's ability and and how it worked became the only thing that Sylar allowed himself to think of.

It took some effort and a few failed attempts before he felt the space around himself shift. He moved toward Mohinder and picked up the photograph.

"There are a couple questions I need to ask you Mohinder. This picture...you're sure that it's the founding members of the, what is it called, Company?"

Mohinder cocked an eyebrow at him. Why would he care who those people were?

"Yes, I'm positive. I don't know the identities of some of the people in the picture though."

But for the cursory glance at the picture, Sylar barely registered any other face. He merely nodded as he folded the photo up and slipped into his back pocket. Sylar moved a chair over to Mohinder with a flick of the wrist. He sat backwards on it, his arms rested on the back of the chair. There was a renewed spark of vibrancy in Sylar's eyes.

There were so many questions in his mind. Though one thing he knew was that the Company was in New York. All he needed was a way in, Sylar thought he had a good one.

"I wanted to tell you. I met another special person a month or so ago Mohinder. Apparently, she was the reason that we were kept so far apart for such a long time. The things she could do...I cannot wait to show you the extent of."

Mohinder stared in wide-eyed shock as it seemed as if Sylar's features started to blur and transform. His voice too turned into something all too familiar to Mohinder. The coldness of it took on a more warm tone, and a soft lilt. No, it was an accent. His pale skin shifted and became entirely different as the illusion became complete. A stunned Mohinder nearly fainted at his own perfect mirror image sitting across from him. Sylar marveled at his newly caramel skin and dark thick wavy hair.

"Don't worry Mohinder this is only going to be temporary. I'm just, well, borrowing you so that I can do something. When I come back through the door it'll be just be me."

Mohinder's mouth would not close as he heard the cultured British voice saying these words. But though Sylar looked like and had the voice of Mohinder, the difference could still be determined through the details. The intense staring, the smooth, fluid cat-like movements, and that smirk. Sylar stood up and moved toward the bedroom door.

"Wait, you can't just leave me here like this!"

Another hard shift occurred and the visage of Sylar returned as he stopped and turned.

"You know, you're right. Here..."

He turned his head until his gaze rested on the scrap of Parkman's shirt. With a few flicks and swoops the gag was roughly forced back into and tied tightly around Mohinder's resisting mouth.

"That's better. See you soon."

The door slammed shut and locked behind Sylar as he left Suresh there trapped. Outside of the apartment door, he removed the photo from his pocket. With a sigh he stared at his father's face before he tore the picture apart. Sylar carelessly let it drop down into the stairwell as he left. It was time to find out just exactly what the truth about his father was.


	5. Chapter 5

Four blocks away from Mohinder's apartment, Sylar hailed a taxi off a street corner. A piece of scrap paper in his pocket contained quickly the quickly scrawled location of a Company facility in New York. As he left the apartment, Sylar snagged Mohinder's wallet and cell phone from the kitchen table. He checked the phone messages, not noticing the driver stared at him. From the minute the tall quiet man entered his cab, Ed knew there was something off. Most of the ride was spent trying to figure out why. Two blocks from his fare's destination, Ed had the most chilling revelation.

It was all over every news program a couple months ago. Local man wanted for grisly murder of mother was what screamed from the front page of most papers. There was a graphic photo of the stabbed woman sprawled out in her own blood. Another part of the article displayed a photo of the main suspect; her son. How the man stared back at the viewer from that picture was haunting. Cold eyes, not a trace of humor on a pale, tight-lipped face. Ed didn't know what he should do as he pulled up a block away from the Company facility.

Sylar didn't like how the driver looked at him throughout the ride. There was an especially disconcerting moment when all of the color drained out the man's reflection as Sylar glanced up at the mirror. To avoid having to stare back Sylar scanned the taxi for anything else to occupy himself with.

On the blue-gray carpet, nearly pushed under a seat he found an old smudged newspaper.

His hand outstretched, Sylar grasped it with his precious restored telekinetic ability. Mostly there were boring articles, local puff pieces, and the sports section. But when he flipped to a fresh page near the end of the paper, he was greeted with the image of his mother's bloody twisted body. His widened and he felt his stomach churn and knot up. A hard gag shook his system, his hand shot up to cover his mouth. Suddenly, the cab stopped, sending Sylar's body lurching forward.

"Hey are you okay? I don't need anyone getting sick in my cab. I just cleaned out the backseat."

The man's eyes darted down to the paper in Sylar's hand. Open on the incriminating page with his mother's crime scene photo and his own driver's license photo under his thumb. Sylar's eyes met those of the terrified cabby as he smiled and slowly slid his thumb away to reveal his own face looking up blankly from the page.

"Hmm, maybe you should have taken better care of the backseat. Picked up a little more."

Ed turned to go for the door, he opened it and fled the cab without so much as a protest from Sylar. He nodded and exited the cab, slinking his long frame out from the backseat and into the frigid night air. A few moments later, Sylar walked out a nearby alleyway. Blood drenched his hands as he walked away from what was left of his latest victim. He still couldn't believe that someone spotted him at his mother's place. Chalk it up to a heightened emotional state due to the folly of their accident. Certainly, he hadn't planned for the outcome of that visit and it was rather unfortunate. But Virgina Gray learned the hard way about her son's survival instinct.

By the time Sylar stepped out of the alley, he once again wore the illusion of Mohinder Suresh. He straightened the tan jacket he had over a rather gauche olive sweater. His right eye cocked in doubt of the outfit he wore, he shook his head at the man's fashion sense and moved to the outside of the facility.

After using Mohinder's pass code and then a retinal scan, he was in. From the moment he was inside he instantly went looking for the files that Mohinder alluded to in his stash. He broke into a man named Bob's office. Bob was a name that came up over and over again in both the files Mohinder stole and also in his personal journal entries. Apparently, he was Mohinder's direct supervisor and was also in that photograph.

There was a light blue filing cabinet against the back wall. Sylar stalked toward it, his own heartbeat started a massive migraine that throbbed in his head. An amplified sound that signaled his nerves coming to the surface. With a flick an uncharacteristically caramel colored hand, he busted the lock and flung the drawer open. He flipped through the various folders until he reached one marked: Gray.

Sylar slowly pulled it out and opened it up. It was full of typed documents, lab reports, and other files. Sylar's eyes narrowed down as he pulled out the lab report on top of the stack. Mohinder's inquisitive brown eyes scanned the document and stopped suddenly at the top of the page. There was something about a test subject and a series of injections. There was also quite a bit on the person's genetic code.

About a paragraph in Sylar nearly dropped his current visage from what he read. All he could see was his own name over and over again. When he was seven years old, Gabriel Gray was brought to a facility by his father. It was under the false pretense of vaccinations for a simple childhood illness. But as Sylar read more, so many questions received answers about his...talent for knowing how things work.


	6. Chapter 6

Twenty years ago, Company facility in upstate New York...

Jacob and his son were at the building all day as the treatment was prepared and administered. His wife, Virgina, was herself such a hypochondriac that she jumped at the chance to keep her precious son healthy even if it wasn't necessary. Young Gabriel sat in a chair outside of the exam room. There was a series of shots he received and they bruised up his arm. His small left hand carefully rubbed his skin as he strained to hear what his father and the man called Dr. Anderson were discussing behind the tightly locked door.

Jacob stood in front of Anderson as he finished Gabriel Gray's work-ups.

"So...if it works, what should he be able to do?"

Anderson didn't even glance up as his pen jotted down all of his findings.

"Jacob, you to have to realize that just because we've figured out a couple genetic markers, that we may have a chance to alter DNA. It doesn't mean that your boy is even going to have a significant change."

The next movement of his pen was halted by Jacob's hand as it slammed down right on the next section of the report. Bright blue eyes startled Anderson as Jacob's jaw shifted and set. He stepped toward the man, and dragged the document across the counter-top.

"Do you understand how much I've put on the line by doing this? By even contacting you in the first place? I don't want to hear that you have no idea what you're doing all of a sudden. Now, we're going to go back to Brooklyn, my son and I, we'll be back in two weeks for a follow-up. I'm confident that there will be no disappointment when we return. Am I right?"

As he spoke Jacob Gray let flicker various atrocities in front of the average man. Terrible things that would be a sign of things to come if Anderson couldn't find a way. Of course, Jacob wasn't actually planning on letting the full force of his ability out against the helpless man. A reminder every now then merely seen by Jacob as nothing more than proper motivation.

Anderson flinched, he gasped as he watched the bright, sterile room change into subliminal flashes into things that he never wanted to glimpse again. Bad memories long since gone brought back to life.

His pale face stared first at the intense eyes of Jacob then down to the counter-top.

"J-just bring the boy back in a couple weeks. I'll do some follow-up work. If...if this doesn't produce the desired result Mr Gray, then there are other avenues we can go down."

For a moment, Jacob continued to stare intently at Anderson. After a palpable tension in the room between the two men, Jacob finally eased himself back. He smiled, satisfied as he put his hand on Anderson's shoulder and squeezed once.

"The importance of what you can do Anderson if this works...So many people can get a second chance at a life that's worth living. The world will become a better place because of it...you'll see. They'll all see."

Jacob smiled as he muttered out that last part, he turned and left the exam room. Anderson felt sick to his stomach as he sat down. There was no way to guarantee that Gabriel's system would respond, that he would somehow change. He tried to remind Jacob of that but each time he did, Jacob either waved him off in dismissal or got angry. This man could lie all he wanted to about wanting to help the world, to save it. But Anderson was becoming less naive about his true intentions. He knew when he saw how Jacob interacted with his shy, awkward, average son what all of this was really for. Simply put, to Jacob the boy just wasn't good enough.

Over the long drive home, Gabriel had so much he wanted to say to his father in the seat next to him. He wanted to know why his father pulled him out of school to do this, why he had to get shots even though he felt fine, and why when his father left that doctor looked petrified of him. All he did was tug nervously at the ends of his blue button up shirt as he swallowed each question that came up in his mind with a tight-throated gulp. Lately, Gabriel hated talking to his father. Each time he did there was never eye contact between the two. That alone may not have bothered Gabriel as much if that's all there was to it.

A few days ago, when Gabriel came home from school his parents were both home at the same time. There was a time when Gabriel was younger that spending time with his family made him feel loved and accepted. That day, his mother smiled, or her face muscles twitched to remember what a smile might look like, as she went to her boy. Like always, she fussed over him and questioned him endlessly about his day. All while never pausing to actually let her son speak. As she yammered on and on, Gabriel stole a side-long glance to his father sitting at his desk working.

He was staring at Gabriel, his blue eyes filled to the brim with complete disappointment. A look that made Gabriel's insides burn, he shifted his glance so that soft brown eyes met his father's gaze. Jacob didn't even bother to hide how he felt as he looked at his son. It was Gabriel who couldn't take it and looked away. He looked down at the floor and moved past his mom to go sit in his room. As Gabriel now sat there in the modest sedan, he choked up the courage to speak.

"...dad?"

No reply at first, Gabriel straightened up and cleared his throat before he tried again.

"Dad? I don't feel sick, why did you have that man give me those shots?"

Jacob's face hardened as he kept his eyes on the road and replied.

"Gabe, it's important that you don't question me. Especially since I'm only looking out for your best interests. Is that settled, son?"

The words stung at him as he nodded and fidgeted with his glasses. He'd only gotten them a short while ago and he still found them awkward and uncomfortable. Gabriel had no idea that inside, he was changing. No one would figure out that he would become quite special a week after that fateful day.

Back at the Company facility in New York Sylar as Mohinder was utterly astounded. He read through those documents again and again, his mind reeled. Included in the folder was a follow-up report. It concluded that Gabriel's genetic code, his DNA, had altered but that no ability could be determined. Anderson, like Chandra Suresh later would, could not detect an ability that was so intrinsically linked to Sylar's very core being. The ability of intuitive aptitude. A year ago at the Company's Primatech facility in Odessa, Texas it was determined according to what Sylar read that they found out Jacob's procedure worked. Advances in technology since what Anderson had made it easy for them to see what his main ability was and that he was not born with it. It's the reason why 'subject GG81523' was kept alive and tested. They wanted to learn what Anderson used, what he did and due to a most unfortunate accident nearly twenty years ago, asking him was an impossibility.

He had moved to Bob's desk chair since at one point his legs felt so weak that he could barely support himself any longer. Sylar thought about all of this, what it meant to how his life had gone. Questions could be answered, he could find the man and he could let him know just how extraordinary his son really was. How he got what he wanted for his boy.

As he kept reading over the files, his thoughts were interrupted by a female voice.

"Suresh, I don't think that Bob will be too pleased with you if he sees you sitting in his chair."

Sylar slowly glanced up at Niki as she stood there in a tailored blue pantsuit and heels, hands folded in front of her with a smug look on her face. He tilted Mohinder's head as he quickly got up, a nervous look on his face since he thought that's what would be expected of Suresh if had just been busted. He moved toward her, it was then he remembered her from Kirby Plaza. How dare she go up against him like that? Especially in the middle of his fight with Petrelli, who the hell was she anyway?!

"Um, you're right. I was...looking for something."

Niki narrowed her eyes down at her new partner, he was acting quite strange.

"How did you even get in here? No one has the key except for Bob himself"

Sylar scoffed at this as he replied while trying to keep his patience

"What, are you Bob's personal body guard or something?"

He could have kept up the Mohinder facade, but he figured what fun was there in that? She got in his way yet again but this time she'd pay. Another step towards her and a caramel colored arm shot out and Niki found herself thrown off her feet and backward. A hard shift occurred around Suresh as he spoke, his statement started off in that cultured British voice but it did not end in that same voice.

"Well, I had something here that should've been mine a long time ago...and some lock wasn't going to keep me from it anymore."

Sylar smiled wide at Niki as her face went pale at the sight of the man looming before her. She tried to move toward him but he just scoffed and flung her hard against the wall, her head smacked against it and bounced off. With a few swoops of his arm, Sylar repeated that same motion again and again. Niki cried out in pain with each hit until she could barely stay awake from the agony within her body.

"Remember me? I hope that you really haven't forgotten so soon. But just in case, here let me remind you"

With a final raise of his arm, he brought it back down and sent her for the final time against the wall, she left a small indent in it as he let her unconscious body drop to the floor. She lay in a heap before him, he scoffed as he moved to go past her and leave the office. But...he knew she had some sort of ability and to have it there and ripe of for the taking was far too tempting to pass up. Sylar shrugged and thought that he may as well as he stopped and knelt down over her body. He slowly, carefully cut her into her skull, past the skin and into the bone. The screams were missed but other than that as he took what this bitch did not deserve, it was like old times. After he got what he wanted from her, Sylar resumed his disguise and left the room, files in his hand. As he strolled down the various twisty hallways he ended up in some sort of medical wing.

As he stopped to figure out where he was, he glanced over at one exam room. His curiosity got the better of him as he peeked inside. Underneath blue blankets and white sheets, little Molly Walker lay there. For a few moments he merely looked at her in total silence. It nearly startled the perfect scene when she slowly opened her tired eyes. A small, weak smile on her face as she saw him standing there in the doorway.

"Mo...Mohinder?"


	7. Chapter 7

His hand gripped the doorway as he put on the most reassuring look he could think of. Brows relaxed, a warm smile perched on someone else's lips. The girl smiled brightly as he stood in the doorway, quiet and unblinking.

"Mohinder? I've missed you! Is Matt here too? Can I go back home now?"

Sylar couldn't help but to narrow his eyes down in confusion for a couple of reasons. First, this was the girl whose parents he paid a visit to a couple of years ago. Such a wonderful ability to have, knowing where someone was at all times. But, Sylar himself hadn't seen the girl in quite some time. Had she been in this facility long, is that why her eyes lit up with twin sparks of familiarity and comfort at the sight of Suresh?

Part of him also wondered who Matt was. Discreetly, he cleared his throat as he walked into the room and sat down at her bedside. His left hand slowly pushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

"Hello Molly,..."

A moment's hesitation, how would Mohinder do this? What would he say next?

"...How are you feeling today?"

She propped herself up against her pillows. It was such a welcome sight to wake up to. Lately, Mohinder had been so busy that typically it was Parkman who would sit with her. A rush of color filled her cheeks as she thought about Parkman, one of her heroes. She pegged exactly where he was in her mind and felt relieved that he was safe.

The girl's heart felt light as Mohinder silently stared at her. But her mind wandered and as it lingered, she learned a harsh truth. Her eyes closed, she thought of Mohinder, her other hero,...who was in Brooklyn at that exact moment. Instantly her eyes snapped back open and just quickly enough to view the disturbing sight of Mohinder's facial features shifting back to what was beneath. What was left behind made Molly wonder if she were actually awake.

Frequently, the nightmare man used her own greatest fears against her. But the presence of the man Molly knew as the Bogeyman was not an unusual occurrence even before those new nightmares started. Small hands wrapped tightly into her sheets as she screamed. His proximity to her was an advantage as Sylar quickly leaned forward and clamped his hand tightly over her lips. A few twisting squirms then she was silent as he stared at her, a long pale index finger pressed to his lips.

"Shhhhh,...if you keep screaming then I'm going to have to quiet you down another way. I think that you of all people know exactly what I mean. Now, are you going to be a good little girl for me?"

Those last words were spoken in a taunting, sing-song tone of voice. She forced herself to a few quiet whimpers. Carefully, Sylar took his hand away.

"P-please, don't hurt me."

Molly's words were barely a chirp and threatened to dissolve into sobs with each syllable. Her eyes already glassy, she pulled her body in tightly to herself.

"I know about your ability Molly. There's someone that I need to find. When you do it, I'll walk out that door."

His father's name stuck in his throat as he thought about the man more in the past couple of days or so than he had in nearly twenty years.

"Jacob Gray."

Molly gave a small nod as she focused. Of all the people he could have asked for, of course it just had to be him. The whole thing was rather appropriate as she found him after some definite mental resistance from the other end. She told him that the man was in New York, told him the address he could be found.

As Sylar took this information in, he couldn't stop staring at the girl. A faint ticking that sounded both miles away and right next to him at the same time pounded in his mind. It built to more than just a harmless though deafening sound. Each new tick felt like a mechanism whose gears were grinding into his brain, splitting apart gray matter and tendon. His eyes went dead, more of a glinting black than the typical brown.

Lust for power filled him as Sylar's hand crept over the blanket to Molly's shivering form. Her tiny hand easily enveloped in Sylar's own as he looked curiously, intently at her. Before he was too far gone, Sylar did what he thought was appropriate.

"Thank you..."

Cold, dark tones that caused Molly to shiver her entire body once more. No, that's not what caused her to shiver. Molly glanced down at the hand trapped in Sylar's grasp, she tried to pull it away. Every nerve ending should have buzzed with the friction of the struggle between the two hands. She felt absolutely nothing, then it happened.

Light blue shot up her arm and quickly spread throughout the rest of her body. It extended down all her limb, veins that once pulsated with vibrant life were frozen and shut off in mid-flow. Fresh screams were never let out by the time Molly fully realized what Sylar did, it was far too late. He finished, that crackling sound continued as he could hear tiny, weak heartbeats slow and stop.

While she may not have gotten the chance to realize or appreciate it, Molly received something from him that so many of his prior victims desperately pleaded for. Sylar slowly stood up from the girl's bedside and walked closer. His head cocked at how a single tear had crystallized on her cheek. It glistened in the light as his left hand leveled with the girl's forehead and he slowly exhaled as he began. For Molly, there was little to no pain due to the numbness that took over her body. Sylar had given the girl the closest thing he knew of mercy.

It was such a strange collection, the quiet of it nearly unnerved him. It reminded him of the day he first saw cryokinesis in action and knew it must be his. The ability always fascinated Sylar from the day he and Chandra watched. Anne Taylor freeze the centerpiece on her dining room table. Gabriel's eyes sparked that day as did ever piece of ice that glistened off the expertly arranged flowers' petals. Everything the woman said to Chandra was tuned out as Sylar watched the ice glisten.

Later that same night, Sylar returned to Anne's apartment, alone. As he was would could be considered Suresh's colleague, she welcomed him warmly. As he thought back on it now he laughed at how prepared he was. Some story he fed her about an additional survey for Chandra's files. The fact that he actually sat there and completed the whole thing with her, before he tele-kinetically hit her from behind with that flower vase from before, amused him greatly. Shattered porcelain and glass-like ice scattered all across the woman's carpet. Her body slumped over the coffee table and revealed a cracked open scalp. When Sylar got up to examine her, he frowned at the result. The gash wasn't large enough to gain access to that necessary part of the brain.

Frustrated, he slumped down next to Anne's body. He moved his hand over her head, his thoughts focused so hard on that ability locked inside of brain and bone. Eyes narrowed down, he focused and traced the air right in front of her wound. Wide-eyed, Sylar watched the wound split and widen with each new motion. Sure it was a bit sloppy at first, but it got the job done. A small chuckle of astonishment left his lips. Things became much easier for Sylar after that day. It was something he often thought of after a kill.

Back at the facility, Sylar wiped blood off his hands, he smeared some into Molly's sheets. One final look at the tableau he left behind and he was back out into the hall, the illusion of Mohinder back on full display. As he went to find his way back out of the building, he could suddenly hear a voice from down the hall. He turned the corner and decided to wait for the person to pass.

There just wasn't time to waste talking to people as Suresh. Also, he wasn't so delusional to think that he couldn't be easily caught should he cross the wrong person's path in a place like this. Clearly, it had the means with which to hold him.

A quick glance around the corner revealed the type of sight that easily confirmed that fact. That Haitian man from Texas was walking with an older man, one from the picture. Bob, the one whose name was in Mohinder's files and in his journal. Sylar pressed himself flatter still to the window as he looked down. His pale hands and dark clothing were once again on display. He panted in a fit of panic as he realized that he couldn't change them back while the Haitian was near him, his ability blocked anything near naturally when he was the facility. A good security measure most of the time.

Sylar turned his head to side and gazed for a moment at his own scared reflection. Hot bursts of breath fogged up the glass of the window he stood against. For a moment, he just listened to the excruciating sound of his own heartbeat pumping with terror. Suddenly, something was off. He was still panting but the reflection just stopped. He watched the image smirk and raise a brow at him, arms crossed over his chest. Sylar's mouth slammed shut as the image spoke.

"So, you're killing defenseless little girls now? How low..."

It shook it's head and clicked it's tongue at him full of disapproval. He watched, stunned as he put his hand out to touch the glass. As he stared back at himself, he vaguely wondered if he was the only one who saw and heard it.


	8. Chapter 8

When Sylar pulled his hand back away again and the his so-called reflection did not move, he shook his head fiercely. He wanted nothing more than to will this hallucination away from his mind, his sight. But, it truly wasn't his own mirror image. After the Mohinder illusion shifted back to normal, Sylar should have been staring at spiky hair, black clothes, and stubble. Instead, this was an unwelcome blast from the past.

Gabriel leaned in closer and shook his own head but in a way that denoted denial of Sylar's previous motion. His brown eyes glared at Sylar from behind the glasses that had so long ago been mostly discarded. A dark blue sweater vest over a white shirt, slacks, and severely parted hair. A small smile formed on his thin lips.

"No. I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. You can't just close your eyes and hope I go away. You never could, why can't you learn that?"

Sylar merely stared back at his old self, the self before he evolved into so much more. For a mind that was desperate to always know the inner-workings of how every person, every situation worked; a challenge like this was disastrous if not figured out soon. If Gabriel were really there, someone would have heard him speak, so this must mean it was all in his mind. Why then, could he not make it go away... or at least stop looking at him like that.

Gabriel smiled softly as he removed his glasses and wiped them off on his shirt. Eyes focused on the near-constant smudge in the left corner of his right lens. They never once looked back up at Sylar as he spoke.

"Hm. You still keep these with you, don't you Sylar? Just in case. Not because you might need to pose as me, but in case you wake up one day and your eyesight once again matches your true self, weak."

As he listened to Bob speak not a few feet from where he stood, Sylar absent-absentmindedly slid his hand down over one of his pockets. Sure enough, his glasses lay nestled inside. The moment he realized what he was doing he only glared, teeth grit together at Gabriel. Every urge to scream at the image was barely held behind his lips as he waited for the man's whiny voice to get ever more distant. He whispered , his voice just a hint of a shake to it.

"You, you're not real. I'm doing this, and I can make you stop."

Bob was far away now as Sylar stood there with this...thing. Gabriel finished and put his glasses back on as he looked back up at Sylar. Before Sylar even knew what had happened, Gabriel lifted his arm and brought it forward hard. Sylar's body slammed into the window of the office with a loud grunt his face smacked into the glass, cracking it slightly.

As Sylar tasted his own blood, sloshing around between teeth and gums he watched the world come back into a bleary focus. He'd slumped onto his knees, his hands pressed against the glass to try and steady himself to keep from falling all the way down. Wide brown eyes stared in shock at what the image had done. A bead of cold sweat dripped down his face, everyone must have heard the sound of his body crunching into glass.

Gabriel crouched down a little as he stared into a twin set of eyes. Sylar had dark purple contusions on his cheek and cuts to his jaw. His heart intensely pumped as he wearily got up again, getting out of there was his biggest priority. Before he could turn, something kept him there frozen in place. A small gasp escaped his lips as he twisted his head back to Gabriel.

"Always just so powerless. So weak and inferior, if you were as strong as you think yourself to be then I wouldn't be able to do this. It's pathetic, you'll never really be self-sufficient. You had to all but crawl back to Suresh to even be able to do the tiniest thing. Hmm, you better run, I think that they heard you. Go and hide in someone else's identity before they see you and you'll really know how insignificant you are. "

Sylar felt he could move again and as soon as he could, he broke off into a run and did not dare look back. As he fled, he tried to put the Mohinder visage back on but his concentration was utterly shot so it flickered in and out of display. His steps echoed out through the halls as he made his way to a side exit. Heart pounded in his head and his chest burned with each breath which only became worse as he sucked in the harsh winter air outside of the building. With a paranoid glance over both shoulders, he confirmed that once again he was alone. Quickly he left to go back to Brooklyn, luckily he had a car to use from the unfortunate cab ride over.

Oh how he was never good with a stick shift, Sylar backed the car up roughly. Gears grinding as he tried to remember what little he learned about this type of car. True he had at one time perfectly executed the safe and effective maneuvering of a semi-truck, but the thing about getting your powers back is it's not a get out of jail free card. Charlie Andrews ability was restored, but not everything he learned in the time before his...treatment. Sylar had to start over.

Frantically, he searched the barren front seat of the vehicle. Through the glove box, the slots in the doors, and under seats for some kind of manual. God how pathetic this really was he thought to himself as he slammed his open palms against the steering wheel.

"Fuck!"

After a moment to collect himself from getting so infuriated that he accidentally would tear the cab apart in roughly the same manner he had Chandra's, he tried again. It took some getting used to and he slid on the occasional patch of ice on the road, but eventually he made his way away from the secluded Company facility.

Sylar ditched the cab when he was back in Brooklyn. As he strolled along the cold, cracked pavement he soon ended up in a very familiar neighborhood. White puffs of breath were exhaled and sucked back into his quickly sore throat. Maybe he should have stolen one of Mohinder's coats before he left. Before he knew it the pavement led right back up to the place where it all began Gray and Sons. But no, wait this wasn't right.

He glanced up at the tight font of the new sign hanging over the door, The Fuselage. Sylar squinted his eyes at it, this was not right. As he peered inside, it only got worse. Brightly colored plastic palm tree lamps on the small yellow cloth-covered tables. Gaudy signs of airplanes and people wearing flight goggles smiling back at you from various framed pictures. One particularly chirpy sign had something to the effect of: "Fueling your day since..." He refused to even finish reading it.

There was hardly a more conflicted relationship Sylar had from his past than that of he and his former shop. It was his second home for years, but there were so many terrible memories that could be found in the silent spaces between ticking clocks.

Back when Gabriel was a little boy it had been two weeks since his father took him to go and see that doctor. He was playing with a screwdriver set that he got from his father's work desk in the back of the shop. Constant ticking clocks were a sound that he got used to and now almost felt was welcoming. Jacob was in his office, yelling at the phone. Gabriel could hear his dad shout and slam things in the sparse room down the hall. A flinch of his body occurred each time the man's voice raised again.

The tiny silver screwdriver set aside on the dark mahogany table as Gabriel heard his father come back into the room. He fixed the glasses on his face as he looked up at that man staring at him again. Such utter disappointment in a single glance. Gabriel looked away again, and stared instead at the desk top.

Jacob sat down near his son as he looked at the tools. His long thin fingers toyed with one of the tools as he looked down at his son. Gabriel had taken to staring at a clock nearby. Something about it, was off, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Before his father could tell him not to, Gabriel had the clock in his small hands and was listening to it. Yes, it was not fixed, not quite yet. That same screwdriver from earlier in his hands, he pried the back off and started messing with the clocks inner workings.

"What are you doing?! That clock took me a week to fix, you're going to break it Gabe!"

Gabriel held up a hand to his domineering father and started to mess with a cog that Jacob never dreamed of touching when he started with the piece. After a few moments of tinkering with it, Gabriel was at peace with it. It was fixed, he just felt it within his core that it worked beautifully. Jacob stared a little at his son, he had never shown the boy how to do anything that complex before. He shrugged it off, as a mere fluke as he stood up and grabbed his coat. A glance to his own watch revealed he was late for a meeting with one of his associates.

There wasn't even a second glance back at his only son as Jacob left the shop. Had he done so, he'd have saw the boy walking around listening for any malfunction to be found in any other timepiece. Maybe then he'd have realized that when Dr. Anderson had told him there was no ability to be found in Gabriel, that the man was wrong.

It would be the last time Gabriel ever saw his father. To him the man had just left. His mother went on and on in blaming herself and later on through not so secret gestures and words, her son. What both of them had no means of conceiving of was that Jacob had met with Robert Bishop that day on the Deveaux rooftop and all but threatened his life for what he'd done. The risk he'd taken to expose them to an outsider. Jacob then proceeded to threaten back, warn them that he was not a man to be messed with. Though he may have felt himself superior to his family, he still felt this best and so he left and went into hiding. The company's threats were felt on the end of Anderson he mysteriously disappeared a week later.

His body was later found in a so-called car collision outside of upstate New York. It was of course, just an accident so the authorities never looked into it. Anderson's tox report was falsified to hide the very significant amount of sedatives in his blood stream at the time of impact.

Sylar held his hand up to the window of his former shop. It may have come to signify everything that he despised about his shuttered away and mechanical existence, but it didn't deserve this. His palm pressed into the glass he stared hard and felt the cryokinesis start to flow in icy streams that at first merely frosted the glass of the window. But as it kept going it froze everything, glass, wet concrete, and covered all of the tables. After a few moments he had the entire thing completely covered in glass-like crystallized frost. Once more he saw his altered reflection in the window of the shop. The blue tinted Gabriel Gray stared back at Sylar, who was nearly lost in the power he used. Cryokinesis always proved to be quite seductive to the destructive proclivities Sylar already had within him. As his mother unfortunately had found out all too late.

"I'm surprised that you even made it this far Sylar. Heh, 'Sylar' that right there proves how truly unoriginal you are. Supposedly you think of a better life for yourself, a new name. But when you get the chance all you do is take it off a watch."

Sylar's eyes were glazed over as he felt rage boil up from inside his core, glass started to crack and shiver in its icy bonds. With a closed fist, Sylar turned away from everything he'd been, and everything he was. This was destiny to be on this path, to confront this man. Nothing would stop him now. An intense moment of concentration, and Sylar opened his fists. Glass shards burst and flew out in various directions. Every piece of furniture shattered, the registers exploded and chairs collapsed under icy weight. He guided each shard away from his own body as the shop was in complete shambles. It would take months to repair the damage if the new owners even chose to.

Satisfied most of all when he looked back at the shattered mirror and saw no trace of his old reflection. He nodded and crossed his arms over his shivering cold body. Sylar started to walk off until he felt a hand on him. As he turned he saw the Gabriel Gray image but it was not trapped in glass this time. No he was very much right there on the pavement with Sylar. Gabriel twisted his hand out and all breath got stuck in Sylar's throat as he started to choke.

Eyes wide as he clawed at his own throat, feeling helpless which repulsed him more than scared him. Gabriel stepped forward and turned in an instant into how Sylar was when he started. That same black jacket, the baseball cap, and his boots.

"So very weak. You can't even handle thinking about him can you? Thinking about the shop so you destroy it like a fussy child would break a toy. Disgusting. Trust me, it'll be better this way."

Sylar sunk to his knees once more as he struggled against the doppleganger. It was getting harder to stay awake as his mind clouded. Why couldn't he figure out the way this worked? But what Sylar couldn't see as the man Molly Walker once referred to as the Nightmare Man dug at the greatest fears of the person he sensed could now find him, was that this wasn't all in his head. It was out, which was much worse as he unwittingly choked himself with his thoughts.


	9. Chapter 9

He lay there on the pavement, consciousness a faded memory for a few moments. The lack of Sylar's awareness of his own mind, his own being was a welcome reprieve from all earlier onslaughts. Of being forced to deal with himself face to face, listen to his own voice echoing the fears and sentiments of weakness that resided deep within his own heart. Lips were cracked and off color, a blueish tint in the cold New York night.

A body shot up, hoarse coughs choked Sylar's lungs as he felt his thoughts rush back to him in a dizzying rush. He sat up on the rough pavement, tiny jagged pebbles rubbed under his legs as he slid himself up. His head whipped side to side, there was nothing there but himself. Bent knees slowly extended out as Sylar stood up again. Brushing off his dark pants and jacket, he moved a hand through his hair. Frost had accumulated on his arms, he rubbed them back to some semblance of warmth.

A quick glance at his watch revealed that it was getting late, this had to be dealt with right now. As he traveled through the expanses of the city to the location Molly had given him before her demise, thoughts of Mohinder being at home waiting for him at the end of everything were the only thing that kept his heart light and his blood hot in his skin against the cold brisk air. As good a motivation as any, Sylar decided as he got nearer and nearer to facing his past for what would be the very last time.

Dark gray walls, blacked out windows, and a sign marked 'Condemned' boarded over the front door. Sylar stood on the street and looked up at the building that Molly's address had led to. He was inside, just up a few flights of stairs. There was no real idea on Sylar's part what he thought would happen between he and his father. True, the man had an ability but there wasn't any clue as to what it was or could be. All he knew is that his father wanted a son who was special, and he should have been careful about what he wished for when Dr. Anderson injected young Gabriel that day.

After the boards of the door stopped clattering on the floor from the telekinetic throw, Sylar moved into the doorway. Years ago, it was a typical apartment building. Flights of stairs, a dingy broken elevator that Sylar was in no way going to try out. He squinted through the musty darkness as he slowly made his way up that first flight of stairs. It was one unsteady step after another as the hollow steps creaked and bent under his weight. It wasn't long before Sylar reached the proper floor and also heard a few distant sounds.

"...Parkman. This man could have the real answers, he could be it. The one who's going after the people in that picture."

Sylar glanced from behind the corner and watched as two men came down the hallway. One was tall and wore a dark jacket and light gray shirt under with black slacks, nice Italian leather shoes. The other man was shorter, wore a black jacket, black pants and blue shirt underneath. A heinous striped tie fastened around his shirt. As he listened to the two men speak in what should have been more hushed tones, Sylar took a breath and retrieved the Mohinder visage.

Matt Parkman stopped in front of one of the doors and stood there, glancing at Nathan Petrelli. They had earlier unsuccessfully attempted to confront Molly's so-called 'Nightmare Man' in the form of Parkman's long-lost father Maury. After the two had busted down the man's door, it became very clear that this was not the man they were looking for. Huddled in a corner of his kitchen shaking in a catatonic trance Maury Parkman was now trapped into his own mind. A black shotgun rested by his side and gleamed dully in the yellow light of the messy kitchen.

Nathan was able to pull the gun barrel away from the man's waiting lips as Matt focused everything he had to try to dig inside his father's mind and pull him back from the brink. It nearly caused Matt to get trapped himself but he eventually succeeded. After Maury came to, he dissolved into shaking sobs as he mumbled over and over to himself about a man named Jacob. Apologies again and again for betraying this man. As he did years ago when Bob Bishop forced Maury to get him to tell everything he knew about what Jacob Gray did behind the Company's back. He was lucky he wasn't killed as Dr. Anderson was.

Jacob only told Maury and therefore when the time came for him to get revenge against these people, Maury was certainly on the list. Nathan and Matt had been able to track down Jacob Gray's last known address. They doubted he would actually be there but they had to try, for little Molly's sake if nothing else. Now they stood in front of the door 1516 and thought about how they should proceed if this man really was inside. Parkman heard a shuffle of feet on the warped, cracked flooring. He swung his already drawn and ready gun toward the sound. Out of the shadows Matt watched Mohinder come out, hands in front of him, the ever-constant annoyed look on his face.

"My God ...Parkman. It's just me, put that thing down."

Thanks to the restoration of eidetic memory, Sylar was able to instantly think of the man's name. As he got closer, wearing Mohinder's charming, soothing smile he noticed something. Sylar very much knew this man. One of the many distractions Sylar dealt with at Kirby Plaza. Five bullets later, this man looked perfectly fine. Could he heal too? Mohinder stopped in front of him as Parkman quirked a brow in confusion.

"Mohinder? What are you doing here? How did you find this place?"

Yes, how did Mohinder find the place? Sylar thought for a moment how to play this as he kept an eye on the other man in the corner. There was something oddly familiar about him, in the face something that struck Sylar as a thing he should already know. After perhaps a moment too long of silent thought Sylar decided it was because of the girl.

"Molly...Molly I went to go visit her while I had some files to pick up. She was, screaming and upset about a bad dream she had. I convinced her to..."

He stopped, Mohinder had no reason to be there that Sylar knew of. Mohinder's eyes darted frantically from one person to the next. Someone had to prompt him, give him a reason to keep the lie going. Instead Parkman started to raise the gun once more, the other man tensed, his heartbeat changed in Sylar's thoughts.

Parkman never wanted to be forced to read the mind of his friend. However, the whole situation rang as very false to Matt and it was important to keep the guard up in such a potentially dangerous situation. With a quick focused burst of concentration he dug into what should have been Mohinder's thoughts. Instead was some sort of sound like he could hear every tick of each new thought. A dark inner voice, smooth and cold streamed through.

_**What did they say about being here...something about the picture. Hm, Parkman wants to do this for Molly, how sweet. Shame it's already too late for her**_

Parkman was utterly stunned but at the words about Molly he raised his gun at Mohinder. He looked offended and took a step backward.

"Parkman, what the Hell are you doing?! Put that down before it goes off and someone gets hurt."

The man made a movement for the gun when Parkman cocked it and moved back.

"Stay back! You...are not Mohinder. Who are you?! Where's Molly? I swear if you hurt her, I'll put you down here and now"

Nathan turned and moved toward them, cautiously.

"Matt, what are you doing? Did you get something from him?"

A wary eye glanced from Petrelli to a man who wasn't scared of a gun in his face as Suresh would be. Mohinder's face hardened, jaw clenched and loosened as he took another step back.

"Don't move!"

Mohinder's bright reassuring smile spread out over his lips, eyes sparkled. His lilting accent betrayed the harsh arrogance of his words.

"Well, it was worth a try I suppose."

A flick of a caramel hand and Parkman's gun was wrenched free from his deadly grip. It smashed into the adjacent wall. Pieces scattered from the force of the impact as Mohinder faded in front of Matt and was replaced by something else instead. Sylar smiled as he stood in front of Parkman and now Nathan who moved to Matt's side. With a cocky glance to the busted remains of Matt's 9mm Sylar's grin dropped.

"Now now, let's not go there again. I'm sure you know what happens next."

Nathan went for the man and sucker punched him hard to his right jaw. Sylar's head snapped to the side as he smiled.

"Oh, that was not a wise dec--"

When his eyes opened again, and he spat rich copper blood from his mouth onto the floor. He was faced once more with his doppleganger. Matt and Nathan were gone as he stared his own reflection down. It looked different again, blood drenched on its hands as it smiled at Sylar. With not a word spoken between them, it rushed out at Sylar and tackled him to the floor. Flooring of a building that old was ready to go at anytime anyway. The weight of the fall caused the boards to splinter and crack. For a moment they were still, then Sylar gasped as he fell through the floor and a long way down to the next level underneath him.

A bone-crunching smack as pieces of wood fell around and on him. He coughed and sputtered dust escaped his rough dry lungs. When he opened his eyes again, it was gone. During the fall he barely glimpsed in old abandoned room. As he got up , body sore and bruised, he realized something haunting. Something made him twitch as it fell from the ceiling. After a few moments , he held his hand out and felt cold wet splatters against his open palm. The room seemed to slowly brighten up as Sylar's eyes readjusted to the light that came out of nowhere. It was a cold white winter sort of sunlight. Not terribly bright but present. A crunch occurred under Sylar's black boots as he bent down and slid his hand to the freezing cold surface.

His hand grazed the surface and felt it hard then soft as he grasped a wet handful of...snow. Eyes narrowed down in confusion as he gingerly pressed the snow between his hands and felt it melt instantly. The chill of the air became apparent as he glanced up, there was no more ceiling, just pitch darkness. Yet the room was bright and the snow was falling faster. Clinging to his spiky dark hair, to his eyebrows, frosted into his stubble. Like someone had just tipped over a snow-globe, the white flakes fell and Sylar was now going to learn exactly what his father could do. The snowflakes that melted in his hand had left behind nothing but dark, cold blood.


	10. Chapter 10

Blinding white landscapes enveloped Sylar's every new blink. From the darkness of his inner eyelids to a light so intense he squinted with each new opening of his eyes. Snow raced around him, clinging to his body, his clothes in prickly patches that turned into sheets. Arms clutched and folded close to his chest, Sylar convulsed violently with the harsh shivering from his bones out. Nothing could make him warm, he could practically feel his heart slowing, stopping.

All sense of time lost as he forced himself to trudge on though he nearly fell through the packed snow on the ground with a few steps. His thoughts seemed to just stop but for one driving force that kept his aching legs moving, survive. So he went on though he had no idea where he was going or where he was. The snow that threatened to be crushed underfoot finally fulfilled that promise.

After one wary step, Sylar's boot sunk in all the way and one leg was nearly lost in the thick, crunchy surface of the ground. Only one leg stuck so he stumbled forward and tripped falling face first into the snow. Skin burned at the feeling of how cold it was... it never melted either. Just remained as solid as ever while Sylar just stopped moving. Thoughts of getting up again were in his mind but his body just wouldn't respond. So he lay there, his eyes closed...and let the snow fall on him. His mind was so dulled by the cold that he couldn't even bring up the only thing that truly made him happy, Mohinder.

Flakes clustered and fell down on the form of the man, Sylar was still as he felt his mind fading, his heart nearly stopping. A light crunch sounded from far away as it got closer, they were the unmistakable sounds of footsteps. Light but confident as they came closer to the unconscious man until they stopped. The figure bent down and placed a warm hand through Sylar's wet frost-tipped hair. Crouched, the figure reached down and pushed Sylar onto his back. That warm, soft hand moved over his face, cupping his cheek.

"Hon...Sweetie wake up...you can wake up now."

A sweet smile lit up the girl's face as she shook Sylar a bit. He groaned and fluttered what were once frost-laced eyelashes. His hand slid out from under his body to feel a dry, cobblestone ground. Dark brows knit together as Sylar looked around. Everything was blurry at first and dark but he could catch the faintest occasional flicker crossing his eye-line. Quickly, he blinked in succession and realized that not only was the snow completely gone without a trace but that he was inside now.

Slowly, he twisted his body over and sat up to look at the person who spoke to him. Even though he was looking right at her, his mind couldn't possibly figure out who she was. Well, he knew who she was but she simply could not be. She was supposed to be dead. Sylar knew because he was the one who did it, who killed her. Charlie Andrews smiled sweetly at him as she cocked her head to the side.

"Oh good you're awake. You gave me quite a fright there for a bit. Come on, it's starting."

She held her soft, small hand out to him as he stared at her. It took a moment to realize he was doing so behind a pair of glasses. His hand tried to move to feel the rims and know that they were in fact there. Suddenly, as he blinked once more he realized that he couldn't move his hands at all. Rough coils of rope bound them tightly enough to make his fingers tingly and numb. Charlie no longer stood before him. The room he was in was dark but with a few more blinks came into a clearer focus.

A few people gathered around on the floor itself and seemed to be below him. He lurched forward but it was then Sylar felt more tight coils of rope, expertly wound around his pale, stubbled neck. For a moment, he squirmed trying to use any of his powers but once more they had abandoned him. Sylar was alone but for the whispered utterances of the crowd filling into the room.

None of their faces could be made out as the room seemed to be lit only by torches on the walls. A figure moved through the flickering, dancing shadows. It climbed a small set of stairs and heavy footfalls resounded on the platform Sylar stood on. Shrouded in darkness, he walked past Sylar to stand at the ready by his side. Leather-gloved fingers wrapped around a gray, metal lever. Dark, impassive eyes were all that Sylar could make out of the figure due to the black hood that covered its head and neck.

He turned and stared at those eyes the best he could, they seemed very familiar to him. A few more struggles resulted in pained grunts, and chafed skin on both his wrists and his neck. At the feel of his own ripped-up flesh, Sylar sucked a sharp inhale through clenched teeth. None of this made any sense at all. It had to be a dream of some sort, except he had never before felt such visceral pain in his dreams. In fact, he very rarely dreamed at all. The quiet of the crowd seemed to be fading into a complete silence as another dark figure moved through the shadows.

A young man climbed the wooden steps and strode across the platform. Sylar caught sight of him through his peripheral vision but could not believe the sight of it himself until the man was fully in front of him. His hair was dark brown, nearly black, soft brown eyes that seemed so full of compassion, and a lip that seemed to be slightly lower than it should be when he frowned or scowled.

Peter Petrelli was adorned in the vestments of a priest. Long black robes, simple black shoes and a fabric collar around his neck to denote his status. Calmly, he turned and looked at Sylar, tilting his head as he scowled some at him. Sylar could only glare back as he struggled harder with his bonds.

"Petrelli, what is going on--"

Before his statement could be finished, Peter held up a hand, his black sleeve clung to his arm as he closed his fist. Sylar's lips slammed shut and pressed together at the motion. Peter looked at him, no, he pitied him with his eyes. Sylar struggled fiercely as he twisted around in a noose that only seemed tighter than it was before. Cutting off his airway briefly until he repositioned himself, standing up straight, eyes wide at Peter.

"Shh, quiet my son, the Damned will have their chance to speak."

Peter could hear the intense pounding of Sylar's heart. It rattled his ribcage and caused tremors throughout his entire prone body. He nodded, and for a split second, Sylar thought the twitches of a smirk could be seen on his lips. Peter turned around, his back to Sylar as he looked upon the darkness. There was no podium in front of him as he addressed the crowd.

"All those who have gathered today are here to witness the execution of the man once known as Sylar who will heretofore be referred to as the Damned. Each of you have had your own lives affected or ended by the extents of this man's sins. His many trespasses against his fellow man have resulted in the crime of murder. The blood on his hands may no longer stain his flesh but forever may it stain his soul. In judgment he will stand before his every victim, he will see their faces once more. Each the result of his own sins of pride, of envy and of wrath. May he feel the stinging of his flesh, to share in the agony that he caused for each of you."

Sylar narrowed his eyes as he looked out into the crowd. A completely shadowed gathering until he saw her. Once again there stood Charlie Andrews, the waitress from the Burnt Toast Cafe in Midland, Texas. As if that couldn't have been evidenced by the short-sleeved pink shirt and faded jeans she wore with a red apron affixed around her waist. A small smile on her lips as she stepped forward, her red hair stood out amongst the shadows.

Peter stepped to the edge of the platform and looked down at her.

"Tell me my child, how has the Damned trespassed against you?"

Her big eyes widened then glanced down before she spoke. A southern accent with just a hint of natural perk to it filled the air.

"Well Father, ... I was workin' at the Cafe minding my own business when I met..."

Her eyes glanced up and met Sylar's own. It was the first real time those eyes had ever locked to each other since Charlie was not the waitress assigned to Sylar's section when he stalked her from the shadows of her own workplace.

"When I met the...the Damned. I was in the back-room openin' a can of peaches when he...ended my life."

Those eyes glanced to the side and a sadness came over her smile.

"He took from me what had become so meaningful and beautiful when a man named Hiro entered my life. I never even got to say goodbye, or see that cute little way he'd smile and his cheeks would scrunch up all funny just one more time."

Peter pursed his lips and nodded kneeling down and setting a comforting hand on her shoulder. For a moment, Sylar watched this display of empathy play out, a few tears went down Charlie's face. She sniffled and nodded as she moved slowly back and disappeared once more into the shadows. Swiftly, Peter straightened his bent legs and turned to Sylar tilting his head some. He lifted his finger and sliced it through the air. Suddenly a deep, bloody gash appeared on Sylar's face. The flesh on his cheek stung from the air as he cried out from the suddenness of it. Peter stared at the cut on his skin and walked closer to him, his lips nearly by Sylar's ear.

"For every sin, you will wear a mark upon your flesh. It is but a small fraction of the pain you will feel as you burn eternally."

This time, Sylar was sure of the dark smirk on Peter's lips before he turned back around.

"May the next one step forward and speak of the cruel acts that the Damned has perpetrated against them."

Another shuffling of feet as a figure came into sight. This one was another girl, taller than Charlie and wearing a red and white cheerleader uniform. Blonde, straight hair that fell slightly past her shoulders with two little clips on each side of her part. Peter once again neared the edge of the platform he nodded at her to go on as he looked at her.

With a scoff and a roll of her eyes she glared daggers at the helpless man.

"Yeah, so like, I was touching up my face with some concealer during halftime of the big Homecoming game. That little bitch Claire had flipped out and gave me this."

She pointed a painted fingernail to the impressive bruise that will forever color the skin of her eyelid.

"So yeah I'm putting some powder on it and there she is little miss freak girl getting in my face again. Completely unprovoked too! The lights flickered and I went out to head back to the game. She tried to stop me from going. God, it is not enough that she cheated and won Homecoming Queen, now she's trying to keep me from going back to the game! I get ready to make her admit as much but then he grabbed me, slammed me up against the freshman lockers and he somehow...he killed me. I mean I didn't even get to have my Prom and show-up Claire. I so would have too."

A short sigh as Peter placed his hand on her shoulder as well and nodded again. He turned to look at Sylar, a look of utter disgust on his face as he cut his hand through the air once more. Sylar squirmed and tugged against the rope on his neck. A large, deep gash sliced through his shirt and into the flesh of his chest. A pained gasp as he quickened his breathing, the sting intense enough to make him want to cringe his body inward. However, when he tried, the back of his noose seemed to tighten so he forced his weakened legs to stay still.

"It is nothing compared to the pain you have given."

Peter clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth then sneered. He turned around again and moved back to the edge of the platform. He requested for the next victim of the Damned to come forth and speak. This time, a young man came forward. Blonde short hair, stout appearance in a black t-shirt with white sleeves underneath. He looked rather nervous as his pale blue eyes shifted back and forth from Sylar to the waiting Peter. He cleared his throat and spoke with a quiet mumble, the occasional stammer.

"I um...I uh only knew the D-damned as Dr. Suresh. He uh...I thought he was the man who left a message on my answering machine. B-but it turned out that he was not. Soon after I showed him my...m-my ability he turned on me. Murdered me in my own place. I'd only just discovered this strange thing happening to me. Never even got to have it for very long or do anything with it."

Never once did Zane Taylor's gaze meet that of his killer. He quietly stepped back into the crowd as another man came forward. He was rather similar to the previous man but he was older. A pair of glasses on his nose in a wrinkled shirt with a tie around his neck. He bravely looked the murderer in the eye as he spoke.

"He called me at home. Convinced me to come to an address he spoke of over the phone. Lured me in with the idea that someone else knew about this...thing that I could do and that he could help. He made me show him what I could do and then...it was the last thing I ever saw, that ceramic mug on a workbench. Before I met the...the Damned, I called my wife to let her know I'd be late. It was the last time we ever spoke. We had only been married for a few months and then this...this thing that I didn't want came into my life. All I wanted was to be normal, to have a normal life."

Once again, Peter nodded and turned back to Sylar. A grim smile on his lips.

"All they wanted was to be normal and live full lives. To learn to live with and adjust to these gifts they had received. Neither one had a chance."

He lifted his arm and slashed bloody slits into Sylar's jaw, above his hip, and on his face. All he could do was writhe uncontrollably with each new pain inflected upon him. Gasping to breathe when he stumbled and nearly choked himself as. for a moment, he hung by the rope. It was Peter himself who lifted Sylar back to his feet with a steady hand.

"Oh no. No, you are not yet destined to pay for what you have wrought. Though you have many victims, only one more will speak here on this day. Then the only judgment left to face will be that of your Maker."

Peter hopped off the platform and landed smoothly as he moved toward the crowd. He soon disappeared into the shadows and the only thing that Sylar could hear was the tiny shuffling of footsteps. Little Molly Walker cautiously stepped forward. Her eyes still just as bright and curious as when Sylar first saw her sitting in the bed of the Company facility Slowly, she made her way towards the platform, Peter appeared behind her he stopped and watched as went to very edge of the platform and looked up. Sylar stared at her for quite some time, he had never before killed a child. In fact, he wasn't even sure what would have happened if he'd gotten away with her back when he broke into where she was being held. The first time he met that Parkman fellow.

"He's...he's the nightmare man. Every time I went to sleep, he was always there waiting f-for me. I always thought that he'd do what he did to my parents. I...I heard them, my mommy screamed so much and then...she just stopped. I never heard my dad at all. But...but when I went to live with Mohinder and with Matt, I thought that they could protect me. Then I got sick, and...I...I thought that Mohinder had finally come to see me. But it was him. I tried to wake up, and I couldn't. He...he made everything so c-cold."

Even Sylar glanced away at this. He couldn't stand hearing her smal,l chirpy voice with that fearful quaver to it. If there truly was a Hell, he would be going there for her alone. Peter walked over to the girl, he bent down and kissed her forehead as she ran off back into the shadows. He moved back on to the platform. All he could do was shake his hand in disgust, dark bangs flipped slightly from his side to the front of his face. He moved and pushed them back once more. It all gave him a rather innocent, boyish look but for the hardness of his eyes.

"Now that we have heard the testimonials from the victims of the Damned, we are now ready to proceed."

He nodded at the hooded figure at the lever and walked off the platform, not giving Sylar a second look. A deafening quiet enveloped the room as the hooded figure slowly moved its arm up to grasp the hood. Slowly, the guise was removed and Sylar was shocked to see caramel skin glisten in the low orange glow of the room. Dark curls stood in contrast to that skin as the hood was entirely removed and dropped onto the platform. Mohinder stared hard into the eyes of Sylar as he took a step forward. He spat at the man landing a gob of saliva right on Sylar's cheek as it rolled over a wound making the taller man hiss and wince from the sensation.

"You are vile, disgusting and an abhorrence to the human race. No, you are much less than human. You're a dog, and it's time that you were put down."

That smoothly accented lilt could sound so warm and soothing. It could just as easily sting worse than a blade twisted into the body. It was as if Sylar could feel what little hope he had left slip away at the appearance of Suresh. To have the only man, the only person, he had ever felt anything remotely resembling affection for denounce him so soundly. All without that glimmer in his eye that typically betrayed his words and proved to Sylar that deep down, he understood and he cared.

"...Mohinder...Mohinder, please, you have to hel--"

His throat closed tightly again though Peter was nowhere to be seen. The words in his mind stopped short of passing his lips as he was forced quiet. Mohinder stepped back behind the lever, his gloved hand grasped it once more.

"My father had a hand in creating you, it's only fitting that I be the one who ends you. I'd say 'may God have mercy on your soul', but he won't and neither do I."

At those words Sylar's breath panicked and he watched Mohinder lean forward to yank back hard on the lever. Sylar's footing was lost immediately as he cried out a desperate protest, able to once again speak. A slot in the platform was removed under him and Sylar's body jerked straight down, a hard snap to his neck as everything went black.

Slowly, a blurry image came into focus again. His hands were free and he could feel them rubbing along plastic. Sliding them back and forth against the slick material, feeling his palms drag and stop. A few more blinks and he realized that he was sitting in his mother's old chair, the one covered in a mustard yellow with a flower design protected by the plastic encasing. Sylar glanced around and felt around his neck. No abrasions, so he moved his hands up to his face. No cuts, nothing, just smooth skin... well slightly stubbled skin that needed a shave.

As he moved his arm back down to rest on the chair's arm, he felt something on his shoulder. A frail hand clasped onto the blue button-up he wore under a sweater vest. His eyes lingered to his side and slightly behind himself. Instantly, they were fixed by the shining, metal handle of a pair of sewing scissors. The glistening interrupted only by drops of rich, crimson blood dripping down and rolling off onto the plastic-covered back of the chair.


	11. Chapter 11

Thap...thap...thap...Sylar sat in the living room of his mother's modest apartment. Walls that were always a most appalling shade of green. It always reminded him of split pea soup. Though, Virginia Gray was far too neat to have ever had even a hint of a spill in her home. Thap...thap...thap... Those walls were lined with racks of shelves to hold her various knickknacks and crafts. Balls of yarn, small Hummel figurines and of course the ever-present snow globes. His amber eyes blinked and took in the sight of the last ones to join the collection, all states he had murdered in. A drop of crimson caught his eye as it slid down on the plastic, rolling then dropping to the floor staining the linoleum. Slowly, he shifted in his seat and turned to meet his gaze with the shining silver handle. From there he traveled up the stains of blood and to the wound itself. A straight, clean shot right to the heart. One that should no longer beat, but Sylar could faintly hear a heartbeat that was not his own as he moved and stood up. Her face seemed especially drawn as she glanced down at her son, her Gabriel. Her lips were a blue-ish hue and just as thin as ever as they quivered some.

"...I know that you're not really Damned, Gabriel. I know that...the person who did this..."

She made a weak gesture to her heart and glanced down, as she quietly continued.

"...that it was all you. I-I know that...you wanted me to die Gabriel."

As he did the day it happened, Sylar moved toward his mother. Once more, she flinched and turned away from the demon her son had become. His pale hands pressed to either side of her upper arms as he tried to turn her back to face him. Though when she did, that look in her eyes chilled him. It was the perfect reflection of the terror his many victims displayed from the iris out, but it was the only one that ever meant anything to him. Her fear struck that chord within him that had so long remained silent, a string that went out of tune from never being played. It allowed Sylar to be able to really and truly understand how far he had fallen. Just looking at her eyes, those hollowed out orbs filled in with shades of horror and regret, he could step outside of himself. Realize that he was a killer, that he was a sinner and such a massive amount of the Catholic guilt that resided inside of him came back to the surface burning at Sylar's very core. He shook his head and felt that weakness of his old life take over the shell he now hid inside of.

"I-I'm sorry…It was an accident I swear, I nev—"

"Stop lying to me! Lying to your own mother—just let the sins pile up like snowflakes …"

Quickly, Sylar turned his back and moved to run out of the house just as he did that fateful day. But when he moved to take his first step, she was there. And when he moved to go past her she was in front of him still. Sylar's eyes widened as he stumbled back a step, his legs never feeling more awkward and gangly than in that moment.

"Please Mom…I'm sorry, I'll go—you won't have to see me again, I'll leave."

Bony fingers grasped onto his arms as she stared right into her son's eyes.

"This isn't something you can run from Gabriel…this is something you must…"

She slowly reached over and grasped the scissors handle, pulling it out with a series of sloshing, wet, sucking sounds. When the scissors were fully retrieved, she offered them to her son with a hard look in her eyes.

"…embrace."

Sylar stared down at the bloodied implement, his own hand finding its way to taking them from his mother's palm. His fingers curled tightly around them and he lifted them up to come dangerously close to his own chest.

"Will the guilt stop—will you forgive me?"

Virginia shook her head slowly, moving to grab the scissors swiftly and forcing them to her son's heart.

"No."

He braced himself for the swift sensation of being impaled. It would be similar to the sword in Kirby Plaza but this blade would be much more instant and despite what his mother said, gratifying. In an instant, when he opened his eyes to expect to see the handle sticking out of his form, he was on his side on a pile of broken floorboards and debris. Near him, a knife glistened dully when it caught the moonlight from the dust-covered windows of the building's basement. Sylar's cheek stung as if he'd been struck, and when he blinked to see the figure of a man standing before him he knew that he had been.

Sylar quickly got his bearings back as he stood up, clattering the boards of splintered wood that fell from beneath his feet a floor above. His hand went up and the figure found itself flung back against the nearest wall, pinned in place.

One heavy footfall after another as Sylar kept his arm raised to keep his apparent attacker in place.

"How did you do that, hm? Telepath—no you're more than that aren't you? I'm dying to know how it works."

"It….it worked. Look at you, Gabriel."

The figure suddenly found itself dragged across the concrete floor and over to Sylar with a flick of the tall man's wrist.

"How do you know that name?!"

Sylar seethed as the figure's face was placed directly into a dim beam of moonlight shining through the dusty window. His hand was raised and that ever-present index finger was out and aimed straight at the forehead of the man before him. The very grace that Sylar possessed when he conducted the man forward was completely absent once he looked upon the man's face. It made Sylar drop the telekinetic hold and take a shaky step backward. The pain in his chest from how much weight he suddenly felt—crushing the organ within the confines of his ribcage. His dark, shapely brows knit together in a combined expression of confusion and frustration. This simply could not be.

"No this isn't—you're digging into my head and making me think this still. My father is not—he's dead. You can't be here, you're dead!"

Jacob looked down as he spoke; the voice itself twisted Sylar's insides to hear after all these years.

"That was the idea…but had I known that it _worked_, that you became so much more—I would've taken you with me. I'm amazed they don't know, do they know?"

As soon as Jacob realized that Virginia was in the boy's nightmarish dreamscape, he knew something was wrong. And when he realized that the man who started trying to locate him after the girl stopped doing so was his son—Jacob prevented Gabriel from taking his own life. Neither man had seen each other in years and it showed. Jacob noted that Gabriel grew into himself and he had his grandfather's eyes.

Sylar could look past the creases in the man's skin, the dullness of his once vibrant and sharp eyes to see the same man who looked down on him. Who he could never be enough for—who when he left, Virginia made the remainder of his life a living Hell.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Do you realize what life was like when you went away? How mom lashed out at me—my dreams all because she was bitter that she was alone. And it turns out that you were alive this entire time…was it worth it? Ruining your family, was it worth it?"

It took so much self-control for Sylar not to shout in this man's face. To use every rage-filled thought currently occupying his mind as his guiding force and slash him into pieces. But he managed to stay calm enough to watch his father's rather paranoid motion of darting his eyes back and forth before he replied.

"It was necessary, if I hadn't have left they would have killed you all. They must not know it worked because…well look at you!"

Jacob raved like a lunatic and Sylar couldn't help but think that as powerful as his father clearly was—he was also completely insane. It seemed that a tendency for mental imbalance ran in the family in varying degrees. He sighed and decided to focus on one thing at a time.

"Who…are 'they'?"

Jacob lowered his voice when he said it, when it became a little more clear to his son why the man felt the compulsion to leave.

"The Company. Primatech. If those people knew that it worked—there is no end to the harm they could cause, Gabriel…no end."

Sylar glanced down and shook his head. Worked—if what worked? Why did it seem like he wasn't amazed by the fact that his son could move objects with his mind?

"Do you know why I can—why I am the way I am?"

Jacob sighed heavily and nodded. Their eyes met once more as he revealed the truth.

"Gabriel when you were a child you were—I took you to be given a series of injections. The doctor who 'treated' you was murdered by the Company he had a formula that coul—"

He should have heard the bullet before it even traveled the length of the barrel. Sylar should have made sure his father was safely out of range but the sharp-shooter situated on the roof next-door placed that bullet directly into Jacob Gray's heart. Stopping it instantly as his chest caved in from the impact of the wound. Blood burst from his body and sprayed Sylar in a dousing of crimson that sickened him instantly. So unlike the blood of his many victims he would almost wear as a badge of his conquest.

Sylar stared in shock for a moment at the body of his father, sprawled in a rather undignified manner on the floor. Limbs out all over the place, mouth hanging open. Grimly, he realized that this time he was at least sure that his father was dead. Another bullet zipped past Sylar's head and this time all he could hear were the men rushing into the basement and shouting orders at each other. Were they police—Primatech operatives? It didn't matter because Sylar had already come back from the brink and he wasn't going to be gunned down like an animal. Not when he had a chance at a future waiting for him back in Brooklyn.

Quickly, he shot out his hand to telekinetically send as many of the bullets back where they came from as he could before he made his way past the corpses of the first wave of men to get out of the basement. Sylar now had answers but as answers tend to do—he also had so many more questions.

The stolen cab was abandoned and he walked the rest of the way back to Suresh's apartment building. That face—everything would be worth it when he saw Mohinder's face again. It would be his next great challenge to open that chapter of his life and convince Suresh that all they needed was each other. There would be pain—blood and bruises would be common in the beginning. But it was his dire hope that one day it wouldn't be necessary.

Apartment number 613's door quietly unlocked and the door swung outward. Sylar moved through the hall and into the apartment as he manually closed the door behind himself. A heavy sigh rumbled his lungs as he made his way back to the bedroom. His hand gripped the knob, it felt oddly warm but he didn't think much of it as he walked into the room.

"I hope you're not too sore Mohinder, but I couldn't trust you to wait for me on your own…"

The smirk on his face dissolved when he looked down at the chair Suresh was strapped to. Shreds of duct tape were scattered along the floor by the chair's legs and on the back of it. The pattern did not follow from what it should look like if it had been cut off and made to fall where it may. Someone placed it that way. He took a step forward and narrowed his eyes on the small slip of paper underneath one of the curls of tape. It had nothing written on the front of it but as Sylar unfolded it and scanned the contents—he knew that his desired life with Suresh would be put on hold. The note was burned to ashes in the tightly-clenched palm of Sylar's hand. Enduced radioactivity seemed to be an ability that came out when his anger was at its most uncontrollable. Just as immediately as Sylar entered the apartment, he was gone again to keep the appointment on that note.

To Be Continued….


End file.
